The Final Frame
by Bathony
Summary: Harry decides that it's not worth it anymore. He goes to end it... but someone witnesses the tragedy. Suggested HPDM, oneshot.


**Disclaimer**; I don't own Harry Potter and its characters. :3

**A/N**: Okay this is my first fan fiction, and I decided to make it a one-shot so I can get a rough idea of whether or not people like my work enough for me to continue. I'm pretty rusty; I haven't written in ages. And I'm pretty unhappy with how this has turned out, but I'm hoping I can make my writing more interesting in the future. 

**Credits**: To my wonderful Beta; my beautiful boyfriend, Jaap. X3

**Warnings**: Suggestive spoilers, OOC-ness, suicide, and uh… I think that's all. :3

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No-one would have believed him if he would have told them, so he decided not to. It hadn't been a hard decision to make, especially since he knew that if they had believed him, they wouldn't have allowed him to do it. So he was pretty content with just going it alone.

…like always.

So here, Harry Potter, The Golden Boy, sat in the room of requirement, his back pressed tightly against the rough cold wall. He hadn't moved from his position on the floor for a few hours. He was relaxing, in a way; one knee drawn to his chest and the other leg laying out in front of him- one hand messily combed in his hair and the other slumped over his knee.

Harry inhaled deeply and glanced around the room. Presently, the room basically represented a dungeon, although calling it a dungeon would be contradicting in some sense. There was one very large open window at one end of the room, the ledge almost touching the floor and the arch meeting the ceiling. No dungeon would have a freely open window, but Harry didn't care. The window, for him, was a requirement.

The rest of the room was just stone. The walls, the floor, even the lone chair next to the window. Harry had been fondly watching the silhouette on the chair caused by the blowing curtains for some time now, letting his mind run freely.

"Well," he finally said, pushing himself off of the ground and walking over to the window. "I suppose this is it. No more Golden Boy, The-boy-who-lived, and even though I'll regret it… no more Voldemort. For me."

When Harry reached the window, he pressed his hand against the stone arch and caressed the cold stone. The ragged texture against his smooth skin felt good, for some reason, and he sighed. He let his eyes roam over the view outside. It was still day, and the green surrounding Hogwarts was beautiful. Certain memories flashed through Harry's mind and he chuckled at one or two, but his stern face came over him again shortly after each time.

"Yeah… Hogwarts, it's been a pleasure," he smiled softly. Suddenly, the ground began to tremble around him and he stumbled, falling back and hitting his head against the wall. "Ouch! Stupid room!" he grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. He cursed under his breath and then looked back up, and that's when he realized where the mini-earthquake had come from.

The room had changed considerably; the walls were no longer bare and instead wore a very nobly decorated wall-paper, adorned with red and gold alike. The stone chair had transformed itself into a comfortable looking sofa and a small fire sat next to it, underneath some very strange… frames?

There, on the wall, rested six over-sized picture frames, all taking up a sixth of the wall each. Harry could feel his eyes filling with tears but he angrily shook them away. "What the hell?" he asked the wall, as though he was expecting a reply.

In the first frame, there was a picture of two of Harry's friends. They were smiling and holding each other's hand, their free hands reaching out towards Harry. Harry shook his head, "I hope they do well together," he smiled. He remembered all of those long, annoying nights where he had stayed up until 3am with an equally annoying Ron, complaining about how he was too shy to ask Hermione out. Harry chucked briefly and his attention got caught onto the next frame.

In it stood two familiar silhouettes, their bodies pressed tightly together. It was easy to tell that they were adults. Harry's reaction to this wasn't as cheerful as it was when he had looked at the picture of Hermione and Ron. Instead, a frown covered his face and he quickly looked to the next frame.

Sirius. Harry's heart caught in his chest, feeling endless guilt and pain. He still remembered what happened that day, and even in death he wouldn't forget. He didn't want to remember, but the pain and sorrow he felt from his death still haunted him.

Twitching, Harry's gaze went to the fourth frame. There, he looked into the eyes of the wisest man he had ever known, wanted to be. '_Never will be_,' Harry thought to himself. All of this was too much for him now. His hands were clenched, his arms and chest shaking, tears spilling from his closed eyes. Fiercely rubbing his eyes, the boy turned to the next frame, trying to ignore all previous photos.

Harry's eyes widened, and his face portrayed anger. "What are they doing?" he asked out loud, "can't they just leave me alone? Why must I suffer, even now?! I was perfectly happy!" Harry forced his eyes to the last frame, ignoring the happy smiles on all of the bright-haired Weasley's faces.

Harry's crying and growling stopped when his eyes hit the last frame. It was completely dark, completely blank. Just a black, engulfing hole, eating away at the nervous feeling in his stomach.

"What… what does that mean?" he whispered to himself, his dark hair falling in front of his eyes when he pushed from the ground, kneeling. As if someone was sitting there, mocking him, red words slowly appeared on the black space reading; "_Importance unqualified_".

"Importance unqualified?" Harry responded, with a small smirk. "Then it shouldn't matter."

Minutes passed, and Harry finally stood up, brushing his hair out of his eyes. He turned back to the window, stepping on the ledge. He could forget it all now. There was too much in his life to keep him sane. He had come to a point where he loathed everyone and everything, and whoever's futile attempt it had been to save him via memories had failed because of that.

Lifting his foot from the ledge, he closed his eyes, spreading out his arms.

Just before he took his step, something drew his attention back to the room.

Footsteps. Quick paced, desperate footsteps running through the room, close to him, near him, reaching out for him. His name was called, a hoarse, deep voice called for him, and Harry felt as though he could hear the heartbeat and taste the tears of the person who had dared interrupt the time he chose for himself, _just once_.

Harry knew how dangerously close the other person was to rescuing him, so he took his step, and snickered.

"Too late."

Back up, looking out of the window, stood a very shaken, tearful and shattered Draco Malfoy, his arm outstretched for the man who had just taken his own life.

"I-I…" the Slytherin stuttered, slumping against the window. The room began to change again, but Draco didn't notice his own portrait dissolve from within the sixth frame before it was replaced with a cold stone wall.

A/N: Ah yes! If you feel like you need to add a little of constructive criticism to your review, if you decide to review, then feel free too. I'm a newbie around here after all!


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